


Eight King Mattresses

by Glossolalia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bottom Keith, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oneshot, Tender Sex, pre-kerberos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7663831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glossolalia/pseuds/Glossolalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the Kerberos Mission, Keith and Shiro might've had a wholesome sex life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight King Mattresses

Shiro never took his shoes off at the door.

Instead of having the good graces to toss them beside his boyfriend's collection of dust-hugged boots, Shiro habitually strode through the cabin door and made a beeline for Keith's person. Usually, said person was occupied in some manner, but typically, he was occupied with school. That afternoon, Keith was planted at their tiny acrylic dining table, a mug of store brand coffee peeking over his wrist and eyes dully focused on a homework sheet. The letters 'LATE' were scribbled across the top in red, and Keith had scribbled 'I know' beneath them.

 _A talented procrastinator_ , Shiro had once called him. _Genius but bored with it._

If it was a good day, then Keith would glance at him in warm greeting with a weak 'hey,' but if it was bad, then he'd lean closer to his notebook and act like Shiro was a ghost.

Today was a bad day.

"Hey, co-pilot," Shiro murmured and swiveled behind Keith's chair. He pressed his mouth to the other man's warm temple. Keith leaned into the contact.

"Hey, co-pilot," Keith answered back. "I made coffee."

"Shouldn't drink that past five," Shiro said and pushed back from Keith's chair to find his own mug.

"It's technically 4:45," he countered.

Shiro scoffed, and Keith smiled in self-satisfaction.

Keith tapped his pencil against the homework, reading and then rereading the equation until the front of his brain began to pulsate. He inhaled in annoyance but didn't acknowledge the moment when Shiro plucked the pencil from his fingertips. With a steaming cup in the other hand, Shiro leaned over Keith's shoulder and started scribbling a lengthy series of examples and hints. Keith loathed how Shiro could make even astromathematics seem like coloring time.

"Enjoying yourself?" Keith asked, bitter.

"You always get it," Shiro said with the patience of a saint. "When _haven't_ you made an A?"

Shiro had a point, but Keith didn't want him to have the last word.

"When _haven't_ you prepared me for even one of those As?"

"Stop," he gently demanded, and he set down the pencil. Shiro reached for Keith's chin and firmly kissed his mouth. "You're doing great. You always do great."

"Math makes me want to drop out," Keith muttered against Shiro's mouth. Half-heartedly, he kissed him again with a noncommittal pop. "Would you still like me if I dropped out?"

"You're not going to drop out."

Keith smiled and kissed Shiro again. This time it was with more pressure and a padded hum from both men. "That's _not_ an answer."

"Patience yields focus and focus yields success."

Shiro chuckled when Keith pulled back to cut him a stare. With Shiro still hunkered down at his shoulder, giving him a half-expectant look, Keith shot his homework a glance. He contemplated his options and only found one he was genuinely interested in.

"Don't enable," Shiro muttered and kissed the shell of Keith's ear. He whispered the next two words, the smile cracking his words like an egg. "Finish it."

"Why would I do that when I could finish you?"

Shiro paused, startled by that, and he pushed back from the chair with a nervous laugh. He groaned and acted as if he needed more cream for his coffee but started to pace instead. Keith knew he'd pushed Shiro's moral compass into a disorienting magnetic field.

" _Math_ ," Shiro ordered and finally toed off his boots.

He flung them toward the pile and missed.

" _You_ ," Keith countered and thoughtlessly used his pencil to trace Shiro's penmanship. The letters were a mix of cursive and capital letters. "I've been sitting here all day."

"That's because you skip classes."

"To practice," Keith said in defense.

Shiro returned to his place behind Keith's chair and gathered up the hair along the back of his neck. He pushed it toward his occipital and firmly kissed the spot.

The heat from his mouth lingered and Keith collapsed. His eyes grew half-lidded, fingers opening to drop his pencil, and he reached behind himself to smooth his hand along the shaved back of Shiro's head.

Shiro traveled.

His mouth discovered the soft slope between Keith's neck and shoulder. Though young, Keith's muscles were perpetually stiff, knotted beneath skin and coursing with stress. Shiro reached to rub the freshly kissed spot with his thumb, and he wasn't surprised when the muscles didn't give.

He kissed his shoulder.

Keith pushed back from the table with a small shove, and Shiro backed away so Keith could stand. Keith turned on his heel, fingers reaching for the man's shoulders. He tugged Shiro closer and shifted the weight onto a single foot when Shiro reached for his hips, fingers pressing around protruding bones, the muscle thin but present along Keith's frame.

"But you're a model student," Shiro tried again. He was smiling. He didn't care.

"Said the model student," Keith murmured, leaning in to steal a kiss from Shiro.

He retracted before Keith could plant one on him. "That wasn't internal dialogue."

Keith lifted his hand and covered Shiro's eyes before leaning in to kiss him. Shiro's mouth opened on contact, and as had happened so many times before, their lips fell into a weak rhythm. It was slow at the beginning, a gentle pace, and Keith reached for both sides of Shiro's face and held him still. He wanted the direct the moment, and on some level, communicate to the man how thankful he was for everything he'd done and was still doing for him.

His fingers reached upward, carding through Shiro's dark bangs. They were young, but every tired pop of lips disconnecting was followed by a quiet 'I love you' and the sort of devotion singularly known to people double their age. Keith tempered the pace, face warm but mouth refusing to quicken, even when Shiro's gloved hands smoothed beneath the back of his shirt.

"Bed?" Shiro asked into the kiss. He took Keith's chin into his hand and swiped his thumb along Keith's kiss-plumped bottom lip.

Keith kissed the pad of his thumb and then flicked his gaze toward his face. "Yeah. Bed."

Bed was a futon. Couch by day and lumpy mattress on metal bars by night, Keith and Shiro had adopted the piece of furniture on both a budget and whim. At night, they draped it with the thickest mattress cover available at IKEA, and it served its purpose well enough.

Sometimes (see: often) Keith forgot to put it away in the mornings. It was his one chore, but between shoveling scrambled eggs down his throat and bolting for the Garrison, he tended to put it on the backburner. That morning was one of the many where he'd dismissed the mess in order to be on time for class. Shiro always tried to drag him out of bed before he walked out the door for his own pilot training, but it never worked. Not even coffee could stir Keith.

Shiro walked Keith toward the bed. His fingers found the front of Keith's belt, the soft clink of metal opening and fabric scraping along thighs filling the bedroom. Keith reached forward to return the favor for Shiro, but his fingers halted when the man's mouth sank to his jawline.

At the sound of Shiro's controlled breathing, Keith's eyes shut. There was the faint tickle of soft lips seeking his pulse, and he inhaled a quick breath he tried to stifle. Shiro noticed, and he sank lower. With a smile reserved for himself, the senior officer sucked along Keith's pulse. The rhythm thrummed against the tip of his tongue, pumping heat to the surface of Keith's skin, and Keith whispered his name like a curse, pure condemnation.

They clamored toward the rumpled bedding. Keith landed on his back first, lowered by Shiro who slid toward the floor and promptly removed his gloves. On his knees, Shiro finished shucking Keith's dark pants. He tossed them aside, barely giving them a second thought, and followed with Keith's maroon briefs. Shiro paused, drinking in the sight of pale thighs stippled with soft, dark hair.

Most importantly, Keith's cock was settled against his thigh, hanging heavy from something as simple as a series of kisses and thoughts. Shiro pushed apart Keith's knees and concentrated on Keith's subtly hitched breathing. He leaned in, recognizing the musky scent of Keith, and he turned his head to kiss along the inside of one of his thighs.

The soft skin slid easy beneath his mouth. Shiro's eyes fluttered shut when he found the crevice where Keith's thigh fused to his torso. Parting his lips, he dragged the tip of his tongue along the spot, then greeted by the remnants of sweat and salt.

Keith shifted his naked hips. Determined, he fought back the urge to tell Shiro to hurry up. Rather than pushing the topic, Keith used his teeth to begin tugging off a glove, his other hand reaching for Shiro's head and politely attempting to push him down. Shiro shifted to the side and out of Keith's impatient grip. He kissed Keith's fingertips instead, suddenly bringing the other's middle finger between his lips and gingerly throating the digit. He did it once, twice and once Keith got the general idea, he tilted his head back and let Shiro regain control.

"You take forever." Keith attempted to sound annoyed.

Shiro wasn't bothered either way, accustomed to Keith's hormonal spikes and preference for hard rutting. He returned to Keith's thigh, kissing down to his knee and then lifting the limb so that his mouth could make a path from his calf and on toward his ankle. There sucked again, but he didn't linger as long as he had on Keith's throat.

By then, Keith was squirming. Chest rapidly rising and falling, he tugged his arms out of his jacket and was left in nothing but his gloves and black V-neck. Shiro flitted his gaze toward Keith's face, noting the reddening pallor, how his dewy lips had been licked and bitten until puffy. Again, Keith had no mind for slow and sensual.

Shiro finally reached for Keith's length. He brought the cockhead between his plump lips and lazily swept his tongue along the ridged tip.

"Fuck— _Shiro_." Keith tersely breathed out the words and dug his toes into the rug beneath the futon.

Shiro hummed in response and pulled off with a wet pop, licking his bottom lip. He breathed in and quickly returned, then tilting his head so that he could skim his lips along the velvety side of Keith's pink cock. He created a wet trail, tongue peeking out and tracing every vein it found until he stopped at that soft tuft of black hair. He licked back up and returned Keith's tip to his mouth. As he suckled the bare minimum, he reached and started to stroke the base, pumping Keith until Keith's hands shot back for the pillow beneath his head.

" _Mm_." Shiro thoughtlessly hummed and flicked his tongue along the leaking slit only to create a vacuum with his lips. He lowered his head—gag reflex essentially nonexistent—and flattened his tongue, letting Keith slide toward the back of his throat until entirely sheathed.

There he waited, adjusting to the new position and counting Keith's sharp breaths. When the thick rasping settled into weak panting, Shiro bobbed his head.

"Shiro."

Keith's thighs tensed, nails digging into the fabric. His hips jolted, but before he could apologize for thrusting more cock into the man than Shiro had asked for, Shiro reached for Keith's arms. He pulled them down, trailing his fingers from Keith's biceps, toward his elbows and down to his hands where he laced their fingers.

Shiro squeezed Keith's hands, and Keith tensed only to relax with a groan. "I'll _come_."

He considered Keith's warning and how his own cock was painfully restricted by his own black briefs. Shiro furrowed his brow and plummeted his head a couple more times before pulling off with a weak cough. He let go of Keith's hand and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Keith attempted to sit up. "Let me—"

_Let me return the favor._

Shiro planted his hand against Keith's chest and pushed him back down, admiring the scene before him with an arched eyebrow. Keith was thinner than him, but he was sculpted, arms lean yet defined, and thighs strong enough to send Shiro crashing to the ground during sparring. Even with his shirt still on, it was pushed up enough to display hard abdominals that trickled downward to a carefully trimmed trail of dark hair.

He didn't notice when he whistled to himself, but Keith did.

"Into it?" Keith asked, suddenly smug through his sweat and flushed skin.

"When haven't I been?"

"I'm into that," Keith said, entirely unapologetic as he gestured at Shiro's bulge.

"Yeah?" Shiro asked.

He winked and Keith was swarmed by an unforgiving pulse of heat.

Shiro grappled for one of Keith's knees and turned him around, sending him flat onto his stomach. Keith laughed at the sudden movement, having gotten a face full of pillow.

While Keith corrected his position, stretching out his legs and cracking his hip, Shiro laughed. He vaguely feigned disgust at the sudden noise and shoved down his own pants. With a sigh, Shiro tugged off his long-sleeved shirt and stretched his arms high. Then standing naked with the window in front of him, the fact they lived in the middle of nowhere played to his favor.

Shiro reached for the tableside drawer. He yanked it open and fished through the jumbled mess only to find a bottle of lube and scattered condoms.

"We've got to get better lube," Shiro said, voice cracking on another chuckle and his inability to maintain his urgent lust. "The Strawberry Delight is getting old. Worst drunk purchase."

"I think you mean _best_."

Keith listened for the tear of foil followed by the snap of the bottle being thumbed open. He pressed his face into the pillow when Shiro knelt behind him, the futon groaning at the presence of them both. A corner of Keith's mouth hooked upward when Shiro straddled his thighs and leaned forward, the man's breath soon fanning along his shoulder. Shiro's hand reached for the small of Keith's back and he pushed the hem of Keith's shirt toward the dip between his shoulders blades.

"Take it off," he whispered.

The shirt found its place on the floor. Keith kept his eyes forward, barely breathing when Shiro kissed his shoulder and reached between them. Fingers then generously coated in lube, Shiro trailed them down from the end of Keith's spine and toward the spread of his ass. He curved toward his entrance and easily massaged the tense muscles with circular motions, patiently waiting for Keith's body to give beneath him.

"You can go faster," Keith urged, sinking beneath Shiro's warm weight.

Shiro didn't pay that comment any mind, languidly kissing from Keith's right shoulder on toward the left. He leaned forward and continued to work his fingers, ignoring how his own engorged cock was firmly pressed against the back of Keith's thigh.

Keith shifted and attempted to look over his shoulder. He tried again. "You don't have to be gentl—"

He silenced Keith with a kiss.

Mouths working against one another's, Shiro's fingers finally pushed inside, immediately being sucked in by constricting heat. Keith's back arched down, and when he smiled into the kiss, Shiro moaned at Keith's satisfaction and thrust his fingers. They worked with spreading stabs, creating just the right stretch for Keith to find a rhythm in his breathing.

"Shiro," he huskily breathed, the scratch in Keith's voice growing thick.

Shiro grunted beneath his breath and gently hooked his fingers, causing Keith's mouth to open in a silent cry that dissolved into impatient panting. Shiro didn't have the mind to care. He wanted to love him, feel as much of him as he could before he bucked into him and forgot his own humanity.

His mouth kissed from Keith's shoulder and on toward the patch of skin behind his ear. There he rolled his lips before flicking his tongue along the shell, curving down to Keith's earlobe where he sucked. Tensing up, Keith shuddered and pressed his forehead against his arm, ragged breathing becoming the defeated chant of Shiro's name.

By the Grace of God, Shiro retracted his fingers, and Keith visibly sighed in relief.

Shiro stroked himself with a handful of lube once more, the scent of artificial strawberry filling the room and reminding Keith they were participating in a health hazard.

Keith pushed himself up onto his forearms when Shiro spread him, his boyfriend then pressing the tip to his hole and silencing Keith's hard panting. Trying to be silent, Keith furrowed his brow when the man nudged inside him, and Shiro reached up to gently tangle his fingers in Keith's tousled hair. Shiro held him still and pushed through that first ring of muscle.

He waited, the anticipation causing Keith to impatiently rock back, and then entered him fully.

"Keith— _hah_." Shiro moaned through ragged breathing, the tightness itself causing his hips to tense.

The pleasure soaked Shiro's navel wall, hot and unrelenting on impact. He freed Keith's hair but reached down to grasp onto the front of Keith's thighs with wide palms. There he pulled Keith back, bringing the cadet to his knees, and rolled back his own hips. He nearly pulled out, tip kept in by Keith's tightness, but Keith wasn't having it. The younger of the two reached back for Shiro's chest and clawed down as if pleading.

Shiro rushed forward.

Keith's breath caught in his throat. God, he was thick, after all.

Keith hung his head and bit the inside of his cheek. There he was—spread, opened _wide_ for Takashi Shirogane—and sometimes the thought was so much it left him silent. Keith clenched his teeth when Shiro smoothly guided him back, already grinding his cockhead against his prostate. Keith heaved a sharp breath, crying out. This alone urged Shiro to pull him back harder.

"Y—yes," Keith gasped and reached beneath himself to stroke his own cock. He wasn't surprised to find himself still hard, still leaking.

"God, I love you," Shiro managed, sliding a free hand up Keith's spine and clamping down onto his shoulder. "I love _this_."

Shiro noticed Keith's hair getting in his face. He gathered up what he could and held it in place, hips never stopping. Once he had Keith reined, he bowed over the other and firmly kissed his temple, beginning to drive himself in faster, as deep as Keith's body would allow him to go.

The thrusts were shallow now. Due to Shiro being hilted, Keith couldn't escape the pace he'd set. Every spear forward created a leaden, repetitive thrum of pleasure that somehow both anchored Keith and left everything uninhibited and frightening.

He tried to stop touching himself, but he couldn't.

There it was. That sudden plume of heat that laid on his navel like a baked brick. Keith fought the dense pleasure, even shaking his head. He didn't want to come. He didn't want to stop until Shiro was absolutely ready to stop.

"If you don't stop, then…" Keith sucked in a hard breath and nearly lost his balance on that single hand. He slid his hand back and massaged his own balls, the tautness still soft and malleable beneath his fingertips.

"Come for me. I want to feel it," Shiro murmured into Keith's ear, his own navel drawing tight. "Come for me, Keith."

Shiro's voice was more than enough to finish him.

Keith uttered a final, defeated cry, and like a metal wire too tightly wrapped, he snapped. The rush, though implemented sweetly, violently tore through him. Hot spurts of white scattered across the sheets in a sticky stream, and Keith unyieldingly thrust himself back against Shiro. Keith moaned, and though he was done, Shiro didn't relent. Rather, he plummeted faster, _harder_ , and for the slightest second, Keith swore he couldn't breathe. He hated submitting so thoroughly, but with Shiro, he'd long since decided he didn't mind that much.

"Fuck…" Keith groaned, unable to catch his breath. "Shiro, _Shiro_."

Shiro said something else. He was sure of it, but all Keith felt were those final dregs of coursing pleasure, the way the man muttered against his naked temple and then slammed forward twice more. Even with the condom on, Keith felt that surge of heat inside himself, and the sensation alone left his mouth open, heart hammering free from his ribs. He was practically drooling.

Shiro's bucks became longer, less pointed in their sporadic nature. Sweat slickened and finished, he pulled out of Keith and appreciated the slight gaping that followed. Too tired to comment on it, he playfully grabbed Keith's ass and ushered him onto his side with his own collapse.

They settled there, watching whatever their eyes landed on first. Hormones rang through them both, reorienting their focus. Keith could hardly conceptualize how in love he was. How that moment itself was an embodiment of love. He had no idea Shiro was thinking the exact same thing.

Eventually, Shiro exhaled. "Landed on the metal bar again."

Keith, still coming to his senses, weakly jabbed at Shiro's shoulder. "Our next investment should be a real bed."

"With that money from the Kerberos Mission, I'll be able to get us eight king sized beds."

Shiro reached down and removed the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the nearest bin. He playfully patted his broad chest, and Keith wormed toward him. There he landed on the sweat-dampened pectorals, but Keith didn't mind. Instead, he kissed the closest patch of skin. Shiro planted his hand on Keith's lower back and tugged him closer.

"Was I too rough?" Shiro asked, voice slackened with post-coital bliss.

"You're never _rough_." He felt the man deflate beneath him, and he laughed.

"Not good on the ego, Keith."

Keith tried his hardest not to smile at that and then reached for Shiro's chin. He redirected him into a kiss but then cautiously walked across his next words. "I love you, Shiro."

"Do you?" Shiro asked and feigned surprise. "I was wondering why we moved into a shack together in the middle of nowhere."

Keith groaned at that and rolled away from Shiro, his usual temperament returning. Shiro followed his motions and curved behind him, turning Keith into the little spoon.

"I'm sorry," Shiro murmured and kissed the back of his head. He sighed and pressed himself closer to Keith. "I love you, too."

"Do my homework."

Laughter rumbled from behind Keith. "Not a chance."

"But I _love_ you."

Shiro suddenly wrapped both of his large arms around Keith who ineffectively rolled his eyes. The eye roll eventually turned into a weak, but clearly satisfied, smile.

"I want a queen sized bed," Keith suddenly said, even though Shiro's breathing was evening out behind him. He was a chronic post-sex napper. He reached for Shiro's hand and played with his fingers, tracing his cuticles. "A queen sized bed because I'm used to sleeping close to you."

Shiro hummed, all at once groggy. "You got it, buddy. We'll use it a lot when I come back."

It was Keith's turn to deflate, but he eventually laughed to himself.  
  
"Right," he breathed and then rolled on top of Shiro who groaned and weakly smacked Keith's ass. "You're right."


End file.
